I’m running. My sneakers have holes and I can feel pebbles in my shoes, I can feel my feet bleeding in the shoe too small for me. I’m running to the shore, to the big rock, but you’re not there. Tears fall down my face, I’m trying to look normal, I light up a cigarette and people look at me like I’m trash. I climb to sit on the big rock, my arms so thin you can put your thumb and index finger around them.
It’s summer, the lake alive, the colours so invasive I can’t comprehend it. I’m just trying to think, feel, anything, while you’re gone. You call me every day to make sure I sleep, to make sure I eat, to make sure I breathe, you’re busy with your studies, it’s the third year of med school and that’s a tough one, you keep saying with tears in your eyes when I yell at you.
I look at the lake and think about drowning myself, I light up another cigarette and cry. My walls are alive and I can’t shut them up. My basement apartment feels like a cage, smaller than ever before without you in it. You try to remind me you’ll be back in no time, that this is only temporary, that you just need to do the internship while I fall through the floor.